


for whom the heart beats

by cielelyse



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Time Skip, dense! Atsumu, mentioned bokuaka, osamu has had enough, sakusa has game kinda, sorry about the ridiculous title i had no good ideas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25582414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cielelyse/pseuds/cielelyse
Summary: Atsumu's heart keeps skipping a beat whenever Sakusa's around - so often that it's baffling and honestly downright concerning."I think I might have a medical condition," he says into the phone."Good," says Osamu, and hangs up.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 53
Kudos: 1617
Collections: SakuAtsu Fics for Midterm Procrastination, ~SakuAtsu~





	for whom the heart beats

**Author's Note:**

> soooooo I'm having fun with dense!Atsumu please bear with me

It all started when Atsumu crashes into Sakusa one day during practice.

Atsumu sprints to save the ball that Hinata is able to get up in the air, and it’s a split second too late when he notices the mass of black hair that moves in front of him as the ball drops.

He crashes with a thud, back on the floor, wincing, and something heavy is on his body. When he opens his eyes, Atsumu is met with a pair of dark eyes above him.

Their faces are a few centimeters too close. Sakusa’s gaze bores into him, his mouth open to pant and catch his breath from all the practice games they’ve played. Drops of sweat collect on his forehead, his collarbone, his neck. Atsumu has to admit that at this angle, Sakusa really looks handso—

And then Atsumu’s heart skips a beat.

“Ow,” he says.

 _Was I about to say handsome?!_ he thinks.

“Did that hurt?” Sakusa says, standing up. He offers a hand. “My bad.”

“I—I can get up on my own,” Atsumu grumbles, confused as to what has just happened.

.

He was ready to dismiss it as an Unnatural Occurring when it happens again.

This time, he’s talking to Bokuto… well, _Bokuto_ is talking to _him_ about how amazing Akaashi has been handling all his deadlines as an editor ( _honestly, he’s the best, Tsum-Tsum! I think we’re gonna adopt a dog together, her name is gonna be…_ ) and yada yada yada. He really can’t care less.

Then Atsumu feels something move behind him, and suddenly Sakusa’s voice is brushing up near his ear, “What’re you talking about?” and it’s muffled by the fabric of a mask but still calm and level and deep and _oh God._

His heart skips a beat.

“What’s wrong with me?” he blurts out.

“I’d say many things,” Sakusa says, and dodges the kick that Atsumu sends his way.

.

The third time, he’s walking into the changing room alone when he sees Sakusa removing his shirt. The hard lines of muscles on his back and on his arms make Atsumu’s mouth go dry.

The fourth time, Sakusa makes one of the most perfect receives Atsumu has ever seen; his knees bend, not touching the ground; his face is so concentrated and determined and serious that it almost takes his breath away.

The fifth time, Sakusa does the third service ace in a row of the day, and immediately turns to Atsumu and smirks at him.

After that, Atsumu loses count.

So he does the only rational thing he can think of and dials a number in his phone. It rings four times before Osamu picks up.

“What have you done?” he sighs.

“Why so accusatory?” Atsumu says, slightly offended. “I can handle myself, y'know. Actually—well, not this time… I think I might have a medical condition.”

“Good,” says Osamu, and hangs up.

Atsumu calls back.

“Stop harrassin’ me,” Osamu says.

“I’m serious,” Atsumu says urgently. “I think I might die.”

“As I said, good.” But the way he says it is light and holds no malice. Atsumu instantly finds comfort in that. It’s a bit of a twin thing that Osamu can sense whether or not Atsumu is actually going through something physically horrendous; so if he isn’t reacting badly, that must mean there is nothing immediately concerning. Well, that, or Osamu has decided that it’s time to rid of Atsumu once and for all.

“Well?” Osamu’s voice breaks Atsumu out of it. “What’s wrong?”

Atsumu explains to him everything: the fall, the bare back, the receive, the service ace, some more of the same incidence, and of course the heart problem that comes along with all of them. It’s the first time this has ever happened to him, and it’s downright _terrifying._ He doesn’t understand why it always happens when Sakusa is around. What’s so special about Sakusa anyway, with his stupid hair and stupid smirk and stupid muscles and stupid perfect skills.

“Wait,” Osamu says. “You said he tried to help you up after you both fell?”

“Yeah.”

“And he was so close to ya that his mouth was next to your ear?”

“Yeah.”

“And he makes fun of you constantly?”

Atsumu feels a flare of impatience. “What are you gettin’ at?”

“…Oh,” Osamu says after two quiet seconds. “Heh,” he huffs, his voice knowing and almost infuriating and _is that a hint of amusement in there?_ And then hangs up.

Atsumu stares at the phone in stunned silence, the disconnected tone ringing dead like chalk in his ears, and almost throws it at the wall.

 _Stupid brother with his stupid onigiri shop and his stupid listenin' skills,_ he curses, fuming out of his ears and too proud to call back a third time. _Stupid me with my stupid blood-pumpin' organ that doesn’t work._

.

He decides, out of desperation, to consult Bokuto and Hinata about it—which, in retrospect, is a completely masochistic idea.

“Oh my,” Bokuto says, surprised. “You’re more dense than I thought, Tsum-Tsum!”

“ _What?_ ” Atsumu growls. “Couldja be helpful here? Look, I’ve read online that this can be due to stress, anxiety, love, drugs, or pregnancy. Given that I’m experiencin’ none a these things, it doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Oh my,” Bokuto repeats.

“He’s a germaphobe, you know,” Hinata says. “Omi-san, I mean.”

“Of _course_ I know,” Atsumu snaps. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, he’s been…” Hinata trails off, and exchanges a glance with Bokuto. They blink at each other for several moments before turning to Atsumu and breaking into wide, wicked grins.

“Best of luck, Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto yips cheerily and pats him on the back. Atsumu watches, speechless, as the two skip back to the gym, a spring in their steps. It is only when they’re out of sight that he regains control of his thoughts.

“Why does nobody care about my heart palpitations?” Atsumu wonders aloud.

.

“Miya.”

His heart skips a beat.

 _For the love of god, I can’t do this anymore,_ he whimpers in his head as he turns around. Behind him, Sakusa is standing next to the entrance of the gym with his hands in his pockets. A mask is pulled over his face and his eyes are gazing at Atsumu with a strange intensity that Atsumu thought was reserved only for spikes.

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “What do you want?”

“Come with me for a minute,” Sakusa says simply, and starts to walk towards the park opposite their building.

“Nah,” Atsumu says, because he’s in a bad mood, “if you have somethin’ to say, say it here.”

Sakusa turns back to him, his stare turning exasperated, and sighs. “Why must you be so difficult,” he says, more statement than question. “Osamu told me.”

Atsumu freezes. “What?”

“Osamu told me that you’ve been having some medical difficulties around me—actually, what he said was ‘I think his heart needs some attention’. So here I am.”

 _I should’ve killed him in the womb,_ Atsumu thinks.

“It’s nothin’,” he says, dimly aware that it comes out as almost a sulk. “What do you care anyway? You’ve always been mean.”

“ _I’ve_ been mean?”

“Clearly, with all the mockin’ and the smirks and the ‘shut up, I wasn’t talking to you’.”

“Oh, that,” Sakusa says, stepping forward so that he’s just a foot away from Atsumu. “That was teasing. Well. Flirting, more like.”

Atsumu blinks.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “’shut up, I wasn’t talking to you’ is _flirting_?”

“No, that time I was actually annoyed,” Sakusa says. “But the rest, yes.”

Atsumu only manages to stare at him, dumbfounded. Sakusa is gazing down on him, his eyes betraying no signs of an ill-humoured prank. Then, suddenly and without warning, his hand reaches up to place itself against Atsumu’s chest.

And that’s when it clicks in.

_He’s a germaphobe, you know._

Atsumu feels his body instantly heat up. Of course. He’s an idiot. Sakusa hates crowds and avoids physical contact like it’s the bubonic plague. Yet he offers Atsumu a hand, gets close enough for Atsumu to feel his breath against him, changes in front of him, _places his hand on Atsumu’s chest._ It’s nearly dizzying, the concept of Sakusa being more intimate with him and flirting with him and... what, _liking_ him?

“Hm,” Sakusa says, tugging down his mask. “Your heartbeat is faster than normal. That’s not good.”

Then something dawns on Atsumu.

_Oh._

But he has to confirm. 

“Kiss me,” he demands.

Sakusa’s eyes widen in surprise. But then his mouth curls upwards slightly and his eyes soften, and he says, “I can do that,” before pulling Atsumu closer by the neck and pressing their lips together.

Everything becomes a little unclear. There is a curious divide in Atsumu’s consciousness, between the part of him that is helpless and melting like pudding, and the other part that is delicately sending a wave of electricity down to the tip of his toes. The kiss is sweet, Sakusa leaning onto him, almost pouring into him, and Atsumu distantly wonders why they haven’t done this sooner. Later on, when the giddy fog clears from his brain, he will think about how, considering their bickering and insults and competition and rivalry, it’s a bit mystifying that this feels so good, so appealing, so addicting that he wants to keep chasing down that elusive liquid lightning that courses through him. But for now, in the back of his mind, all he understands is the answer to the supposed heart problems he’s been having.

When they break apart, Atsumu’s knees get a little weak.

“Oh,” he says, trying to breathe, “ _fuck_.”

Sakusa stares at him, pupils blown. And then his expression morphs into a sly, devious smile—one that Atsumu will never get tired of seeing. “Well,” he drawls, “I can do that too.”

.


End file.
